Tomorrow

Like the first orange iris of an Eastern sun and its corona collision with the blue cold in a morning...like pinks and blues in ribbons to start the day.  Like a cool breeze across mesquite, barren and brittle in a December wind. Like a rivulet of I-35 or maybe I-95 or maybe a dark charcoal line that may lead to you. Like the part of you in your almost-winter eyes that may turn and suddenly alight upon me like the flash of an arrival's headlights. Like the red cold trace of an aircraft speeding away from somebody, or maybe to somebody. Like the flutter of a brief tip of some fingers, cold and red in an afternoon that suddenly steal yours and find them warm. Like a kiss with coffee, like a kiss with wine, like the cold view of the neighbor's lights twinkling while the house is still sleeping. Like a very brief moment, when suddenly things could be, or might be or may be. Possibilities. Like unopened gifts. That may remain so. Or might be ripped apart. The pieces of the last bits of fire, the last parts of the warmth, the last bright and tiny, shiny portions that looked like the sun that very first thing in the morning. That is what I would give you if that is what I could give you.